


Five Times Two Hawkeyes Talked About Sex (and the First Time They Did It)

by mayhap



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: 5+1 Things, Awkwardness, Banter, F/M, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayhap/pseuds/mayhap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton is Hawkeye. Kate Bishop is also Hawkeye. Why does this have to be so complicated?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Two Hawkeyes Talked About Sex (and the First Time They Did It)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bendingwind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingwind/gifts).



> I thought I'd slip cameos of both the other Clint and Kate pairings you requested! This includes a dash of Earth-616 Clint/Coulson, which I hope works for you. :)

“—because I don’t want to sleep with you?” Clint blurts.

_That didn’t come out right. I mean, it_ **_is_ ** _right, but it_ **_sounds_ ** _wrong._

He ducks and weaves his way through the world’s most awkward phone conversation and somehow Kate is actually still talking to him by the end of it. They pledge to take down the Tracksuit Draculas together. Clint heaves a sigh of relief.

_Least that’s out of the way now and we_ **_never_ ** _have to talk about it ever again._

⟼

_Okay. This_ **_looks_ ** _bad._

“Oh yes, right there,” moans Kate. “Do that again.”

Her top is thrown over Clint’s sofa, and the clasp on her bra is undone. She wriggles beneath him with evident pleasure.

“Uuuuuuuugn,” Kate utters a nigh-orgasmic cry.

**_Sounds_ ** _bad, too. I’m sure the downstairs neighbors can hear_ **_everything_ ** _through these floors._

Clint digs his thumbs into the dense muscle fiber of Kate’s shoulder, kneading the knotted part again and again, loosening and stretching. She melts into the couch as he works out the tension, which muffles some of the moaning.

_The Avengers better not yank me now. I do_ **_not_ ** _want to have to explain this to Captain America._

“That better?” he asks, finally, when Kate is so boneless beneath his touch that they might as well have been doing that other thing.

“Much better,” Kate purrs throatily. “Was it good for you, too?”

“You know the entire building’s going to think we’re sleeping together now,” Clint complains. Kate looks up at him pityingly.

“Oh Clint,” she says, “they already do.”

Clint winces.

“Shouldn’t let your muscles get that tight, Katie,” he changes the subject hastily. “’S dangerous.”

“Pffffft,” says Kate. “Bet I can outshoot you with one hand tied behind my back.” Both hands are behind her back, pulling her bra back together, but after it’s fastened she reaches for her bow instead of her shirt. Clint tosses it at her, draping it over her chest.

“If you only have one good arm, you go for a sword. Or a throwing star. Something pointy.”

“You don’t think you can do it,” Kate says gleefully. She seats herself on the floor, extending one rock-solid leg and bracing the grip of her bow against the arch of her foot as she notches an arrow and draws it, single-handedly. Her first release sinks into the inner blue ring on the paper target pinned to the straw dummy hanging across the room.

“That’s a terrible shot,” Clint says, and Kate sticks her tongue out at him and tries again. Her subsequent arrows drift into the edges of gold center, although they’re still inches and miles away from the heroic precision of her regular shooting.

“You try,” she says, offering him his old bow from her shooting position on the floor. Clint waves it away. “Then I win!” she gloats.

“By default,” Clint scoffs.

“I still win!” Kate dimples up at him.

_Gah she’s_ **_such_ ** _a brat. She’s gonna drive me insane. She’s perfect._

⟼

“I thought you couldn’t make it.” Clint quickly ties off the piece of string that links diamonds stolen from a wholesaler on Broadway to a kidnapping in the south of France on his sprawling wall of criminal conspiracy.

“I had a date.” Kate kicks off her heels and wriggles her toes like a dancer, each one separate.

“But you’re here now.”

“Date didn’t go according to plan.” Kate sighs. “Tommy said he ‘needed space’.” She makes oversized air quotes with her fingers. “I said he could be halfway across the world from me any time he wanted. He said that wasn’t what he meant.”

_Ouch._

“I’m sorry?” Clint hazards.

“It’s okay,” Kate says. “It’s Tommy. He leaves, but he’s always come back. So far.” A shadow passes across her face. “God I’ll miss the sex though.”

Clint, who has been fiddling with another pin from his wall, pricks himself with it and yelps.

“You know how they say no man can ever compete with a vibrator? Well, I can tell you that that’s not necessarily true if the man happens to be a speedster, and he—“

Clint covers his ears. “La la la la not listening la la la!”

_And what is that supposed to mean? About the vibrators?_

“How old are you? Twelve?” Kate demands.

“I’m not talking about sex with you,” Clint insists. “’S just _wrong_. You’re like a _baby_.”

“I’m _nineteen_ ,” Kate says, ruffling up indignantly.

“Exactly,” says Clint.

“I’m almost twenty!”

“When you’re my age you never talk about being almost anything,” Clint says.

“Wait wait wait. Are you _jealous_?” Kate demands, peering into Clint’s face suspiciously.

“Sure I’m jealous,” Clint says, “Wish I was still young enough to talk about what age I was ‘almost.’”

“Whatever,” Kate says. She sighs again.

“So how ‘bout a distraction?” Clint suggests. He waves a hand at his wall of intrigue. “I got plenty here to choose from. Take your pick.”

“That your solution to romantic troubles? Bad guys to take down?”

“’S _one_ of ‘em,” Clint says. “The one I can actually recommend anyway.”

“Okay fine,” says Kate, “Gimme some kidnappers and we’ll make ‘em sorry.”

⟼

Clint and Kate are the last ones left on the roof that night, leaning on the parapet and looking out at the moon and the skyline.

“How do you know when a guy wants to sleep with with you?” Clint blurts.

_Well_ **_that_ ** _was smooth._

“He’s breathing,” says Kate with a smirk. Clint rolls his eyes. “Also sometimes he goes out of his way to say that he doesn’t want to sleep with me. That one is super-obvious by the way.”

“Not helping,” Clint complains.

“Wait—this is an actual problem? That you have?” Kate says.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Is it Spider-man?”

“No! What is it with you and Spider-man?”

“Spider-man makes you gay,” Kate says, matter-of-factly.

Clint rubs his nose tiredly. “I hadn’t noticed,” he says. “And I’ve been working with the guy for a while now.”

“Is it someone from work?” Kate presses.

“Sort of,” Clint admits.

“Doesn’t S.H.I.E.L.D. have an H.R. department you can report these things to?”

“I don’t want to report him!” Clint says. “Besides, I can’t even talk to those guys. This stuff is way above their pay grade.”

Kate’s eyes light up as Clint clamps his jaw belatedly shut. “Oh so _that’s_ how it is,” she says, knowingly.

_Shit shit shit, I’m gonna get her get her into so much trouble with S.H.I.E.L.D. if she keeps picking up this secret stuff from me._

“Tell me alllllll about it,” Kate goes on, chin in hands.

“I can’t tell you anything about it. That’s what secret _means._ ”

“You can leave out the classified stuff. Just tell me more about this guy you think wants to sleep with you so I can tell you whether he does or not.”

Clint hesitates.

“You brought it up,” Kate reminds him.

“Yeah, okay,” Clint says. He pinches his nose and thinks. “It all started when he tased me.”

“Oh yeah, very promising,” Kate says. “He totally wants to do you.”

“The circumstances were totally extenuating,” Clint says, paraphrasing loosely from his official report. “There was a thing. He thought I was being mind-controlled.”

“And were you? Being mind-controlled?”

“I was being cautious.”

“I can see why he was confused,” Kate says, smirking.

“Shush, you,” Clint says. “So anyways, uh, then some other stuff happened.”

“Real specific there, Hawkeye,” Kate interjects.

“Any time, Hawkeye,” Clint shoots back at her. “He restrained me until he could interrogate me and figured out that I wasn’t being mind-controlled, then he took me out for coffee, and then—shouldn’t you be weird about this? How come you’re not more weird about this?”

“What, that you think a guy is hitting on you or that you’re kinda into it?”

“Yeah that,” Clint says. Kate rolls her eyes at him.

“You’re allowed to have a bicurious phase,” she says airily. “It’s a thing.”

“It is?”

“Totally a thing,” Kate assures him.

This time the bandage comes loose from the bridge of Clint’s nose and he drops it into the street below.

“Litterbug,” Kate scolds, shaking a finger at him.

“I’ll pick it up later.”

“So. Coffee?” Kate prompts.

“Yeah,” Clint says. “I don’t think that part was a date. We’d both been up for…a lot of hours.” He gives up on a finger count . “We talked about stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Like what I do when I’m not being an Avenger.” Clint’s lips curve into something like a smile as he stares out at nothing in particular.

“Is that it?” Kate asks after a moment.

“Kind of?” Clint says. “I mean, there was stuff, but…secret.”

“Okay, based on the available evidence I can’t tell if this guy wants into your pants or he’s just polite,” Kate says.

“See I knew it,” Clint says.

“You’re gonna have to actually talk to him.”

“What? Noooo.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “Wait for him to talk to you then. You’re sure it isn’t Spider-man?” she adds.

“Look, Spider-man is _married_ ,” Clint says before he sees that Kate is snickering at him.

⟼

Clint’s got purple boxers on and seven new episodes of Dog Cops logged on his DVR when Kate shows up. She’s surreptitious enough that Lucky detects her presence before Clint does, wagging and panting and snuffling at her.

“There’s such a thing as a front door. And knocking,” Clint says, after performing a stealthy fly check. Status: complete coverage.

“Not enough of a challenge,” says Kate. “Besides, I brought pizza.” She already has the box open, hand-feeding Lucky bits of pepperoni and sausage she picks out of the cheese for him.

_No fair, using my own underhanded tactics against me._

“What are you watching?” Kate adds. The television is frozen on a close-up of a German shepherd in a navy-and-gold police vest, mouth open in a toothy snarl.

“Dog Cops,” Clint says, reaching out to snag his own slice of pizza.

Kate, who has just jammed half a slice of folded pizza into her mouth, snorts.

“All the Avengers are hooked on it,” Clint says defensively. “It’s great.”

“I gotta tell Billy and Teddy that,” Kate says. “They’ll torrent every single episode and marathon them.”

_Not even going to ask what that means. Already feeling old enough today as it is._

“Lucky likes it too, doncha boy?” Clint adds. Lucky, who has joined them on the couch where the pizza is, thumps his tail appreciatively, and Clint tousles his ears. “Who’s a good boy who loves watching Dog Cops?”

“What’s this?” Kate asks, catching his left hand in her own greasy ones. “You didn’t get married and not invite me, did you?”

_Fuck._ **_Fuck_ ** _. How did I manage to take everything off_ **_but_ ** _that?_

“Of course not.” He quickly shucks the ring, which has gotten too comfortable beneath his knuckle. “It was a work thing.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m planning on being the best girl at your wedding. Or at least one of your groomspeople.”

“I am _never_ getting married again,” Clint says, a little too loudly and a little too fervently.

“Okay okay, that’s cool,” Kate says, spreading her hands. “Weddings are overrated anyway. Dangerous too.” She only hesitates a moment before prying further. “So who was your fake wife?”

Clint hesitates.

_If I’m gonna tell her the truth, which I told her I would if I could, might as well get it over with now._

“My ex.”

Kate whistles. “Whose genius idea was _that_?”

“It was the best plan we had!” Clint says defensively. “It worked, too. Like a charm.”

“Oh my god you are such an idiot,” Kate tells him, but she says it sympathetically. “How awkward was it?”

“How awkward d’you think?”

“Incredibly awkward?”

“Worse.” Clint turns the gold band over in his hands, palming it and then producing it over and over.

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“Of course not!” Clint says. “We’re just co-workers now. Totally professional superhero-types who work together and definitely aren’t going to start dating again.”

“You sleep with like half your co-workers.”

“Do not.”

“I hear stories. Superheroes love to gossip,” Kate says. “Supervillains too, actually.”

“That can’t ever happen ever again ‘cause I every time I tried it I screwed it all up like I always do, okay?” Clint snaps. “Can we not talk about it anymore and watch some dogs fight crime now?”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Kate says. “Here, take some more pizza.” She shoves the box into his lap and presses play on the remote while Clint’s composing himself and looking for a place to stash the ring. On screen, the German shepherd snarls and takes off down the street towards a suspect who’s fleeing on foot.

“Thash Prinshe,” Clint says, mouth full of pizza. He swallows. “He’s a loose cannon who doesn’t play by the rules.”

“Of course he is,” Kate says.

⟼ ♡ ⟼

When the trial is over and the guilty verdicts on the Tracksuit Draculas come down, the usual gathering on the roof of Clint’s building turns into a full-out celebration. Clint shucks the suit he’s been wearing to court for weeks for his usual jeans, purple Chucks and a t-shirt that doesn’t catch awkwardly at the cast on his broken right arm when he moves and he tries to relax and celebrate with them.

_Thought when I finished this thing I’d feel_ **_different_ ** _somehow. Didn’t think it would be worse._

 Kate shows up with a case of champagne like it’s as normal as a six-pack of beer.

“You steal that from your father’s cellar?” Clint asks.

“’Liberate,’” Kate corrects him. “And no, actually I bought it myself.”

Clint raises both eyebrows.

“I even used my real ID,” Kate says. “You know I’m twenty-one now, right?”

“Yeah, who could forget that party?”

“That was all my father and my sister,” Kate says, making a face. “I’d rather have my champagne with hot dogs.”

She does the champagne fountain thing with a pyramid of red plastic cups and gets a lot of ooooohs and aaaaaahs, especially from the kids. Clint retrieves one cup out of a pair of excited young hands and substitutes a juice box. Kate jostles her own cup up against the one he’s holding.

“To Hawkeye,” she toasts, keeping her voice low out of respect for his secret identity.

_Not that it’s much of a secret anymore. Not here, anyway._

“To _Hawkeyes_ ,” Clint says, and he takes a swig of the champagne.

_Tastes so boring for being so goddamn expensive._

Kate’s skirt brushes the tops of her knees but doesn’t completely cover the bandage on her right thigh. Clint looks away.

_Everyone here knows I did something even if they don’t exactly know what, but_ nobody _knows what she did. Except for me. I was the one who got her into it. I got her hurt._

Clint eats food when it’s pressed on him and accepts a couple of refills of his drink and excuses himself a lot earlier than usual, saying he’s tired and it’s been a long day, collecting one last round of fist-bumps (left-handed ones) and other assorted gratitudes.

Kate catches him on the cramped metal stairs that lead down from the roof. “The party’s just getting started,” she says.

“Go on, party,” Clint says. “I’m gonna make it an early night.” He scratches at the itchy bit where the edge of the cast meets the skin inside his elbow. Kate was at the hospital with him when they set it and made the nurse wrap it in decorative purple tape, but at the edge the plain white sticks out and is turning gray from exposure. She rests a light hand on his stiff purple forearm now as he moves to leave.

“Wait a sec,” she says, and plants a quick cool kiss on his bruised and stubbly cheek. Her second kiss is on his lips, and longer, and wetter, until Clint breaks away, pressing himself up against the wall.

“We can’t,” he says, staring desperately at his feet, at the wall, “Katie, I can’t, you know, I said, I can’t do this, besides I thought I was safe, I didn’t even think you _wanted,_ I mean—”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Kate says.

“I can’t lose you, Katie.” Clint’s hands are uncomfortably sweaty. He shoves his left one through his hair while the useless right hangs awkwardly at his hip. “You’re too important. You’re _Hawkeye._ ”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m exactly gonna get _lost_ ,” Kate says. “We can sleep together if we want to. We’re both adults.”

“I _can’t,_ ” Clint says, wringing his hands helplessly.

“You sleep with women all the time,” says Kate. “Dudes, too, unless you chickened out. Which you did, didn’t you,” she adds, accusingly.

“Are you—are you mad at me ‘cause I _didn’t_ sleep with someone else?” Clint asks.

Kate is looking at him intently. “You’ll sleep with anyone as long as you _don’t_ think it’s important,” she says.

“Nuh uh,” Clint mutters shamefacedly. He tries to start slinking down the stairs, but Kate heads him off, standing squarely between him and the door that leads to his hallway. “Well. Kinda?”

Kate shakes her head. “That’s pretty sad,” she says. “I mean, if you really didn’t want to sleep with me, that would be one thing, but I kinda think you do. Am I right? I’m right, aren’t I?”

Clint clamps his jaw shut. Kate sighs. “It’s cool,” she says. “We can still hang out and shoot arrows at bad guys and stuff.”

“Not sure that’s such a hot idea either,” Clint says. Kate snorts.

“What, do you actually think you can stop me? Clint, when has that ever worked?”

“I just think maybe we should quit while we’re ahead,” Clint says. “You know.” He makes an inarticulate gesture.

“I think you quit too much. You never give up on anybody as fast as you give up on yourself. But you know, whatever. I can’t stop you from being an idiot.” Kate opens the door herself and holds it open for Clint. She is stiff. She is polite.

_Pretty sure I couldn’t have done that any wronger._ **_Fuck._ **

Clint examines his surroundings for something that will help him, but all that he sees is Kate, her arms crossed, her mouth set in a line.

_Don’t kiss her. Don’t kiss her. Barton, you dummy, you’ve managed for this long, you can keep not kissing her now._

His right hand is stiff against the small of her back, confined by the cast up to his knuckles, but he clasps tightly with his left as he kisses her. If Kate is surprised, she doesn’t show it; she pushes him up against the wall with open-mouthed kisses, letting the access door slam shut behind them. Their progress is only slowed when they stumble into Clint’s apartment door, which is locked. Clint reaches, left-handedly, into his jeans pocket for his keys and comes up short as Kate is already unlocking the door with them.

“How’d you—“ he begins.

“You were distracted,” Kate says, and demonstrates her distraction technique for him again. They don’t make it as far as the bed, or even the couch. They strew clothing in their wake—their own, each other’s. Kate is quicker, with two unencumbered hands, but Clint is resourceful in spite of limitations. He unhooks her bra one-handed and cups his fingers lightly around her breast, encircling the nipple. Kate places her hand over his and squeezes more firmly, kneading and pinching, and when he takes the direction from her she rewards him with groan and a deeper kiss, tugging at his lower lip with sharp white teeth.

They find themselves in the kitchen. Clint wraps an arm around Kate and hoists her up onto the counter, knocking the coffeepot with its eighth-inch of brown sludge in the bottom of the carafe to the linoleum floor, where it clatters and rattles but does not shatter. Neither of them show any sign of noticing the racket it makes. Kate wraps her legs around him and pulls him in even closer, hiking her skirt up to her waist, pressing for more contact everywhere that their bodies can meet from head to hip. Clint puts his hand out to feel his way up along her thigh and it finds cotton gauze and plastic tape.

He flinches as if it burns him and would pull away entirely if Kate weren’t holding him so tightly. “Katie,” he says, “I can’t—“

“Don’t do that,” Kate says sharply. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Now shut up and fuck me.”

_I want. I can’t. I want I can’t I want—_

“Or don’t shut up,” Kate amends. “Make some noise and fuck me.”

Clint opens his mouth to apologize, to make excuses.

“I have condoms,” he says. Kate laughs.

“Of course you do,” she says. “I mean, I do too but yours are closer.”

She lets Clint trace his hand gently back up her thigh, scrutinizing her face minutely for its reaction. She begins to touch herself through her lavender cotton panties so that when his hand finally meets hers there, they are wet through and slick.

“Oh my god,” Clint says. He teases with the tip of one finger and Kate bucks her hips and utters a little cry of pleasure. “Fuck, Katie, you’re so fucking perfect.”

“And you’re such a fucking tease,” Kate says. “Are you gonna do this or what?”

“Yeah,” Clint says. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

**Author's Note:**

> Continuity notes/possible suggested reading:
> 
> The appearance in main Marvel continuity of one Agent Phil Coulson, right-hand-man to a black Nick Fury, is explained in Matt Fraction's limited series, Battle Scars. It's a pretty fun read.
> 
> Coulson and Fury are scheduled to pop up again in Secret Avengers, where since issue #21.1 Hawkeye has taken over from Captain America leading a team of Avengers who fight the enemies that they really, really don't want the rest of the world to know about. (This is the promotion Clint alludes to in issue #2.) This won't actually happen until January 2013, however, so I took some liberties here. I'm pretty sure this is not the direction that Marvel is going to take with Coulson.
> 
> Bobbi Morse/Mockingbird, Clint's ex-wife, ex-girlfriend and ex-Skrull, is also set to join the Secret Avengers in the upcoming year. I'm pretty sure that excruciating awkwardness is, in fact, a big reason for putting her there.
> 
> Dog Cops is from Matt Fraction's Twitter: "i just made it so the avengers' favorite tv show by consensus is something called DOG COPS #canon". I find this unutterably charming. (EDIT: Also Hawkeye #6! Whee!)


End file.
